


He'd Figure it Out Later

by kayliemalinza



Series: The Normal Trilogy [2]
Category: Velvet Goldmine
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Biting, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-10
Updated: 2002-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:30:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza/pseuds/kayliemalinza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "His Life Was Back to Normal". They have sex again. They still act like men.</p><p>Teaser: Curt pointed a finger at Arthur. “I’m no fucking stalker. Got that?”</p><p>Arthur couldn’t contain a grin. “Yeah, sure, sure,” he said. Curt relaxed, but Arthur couldn’t help adding, “You’re just following me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At the Restaurant

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the date--this was written in late 2002. I can't promise this fic doesn't have any ish. Actually, I _can_ promise that there's some gross gender essentialism in here and probably some internalized misogyny/effemenophobia. Although some of that is probably a little tongue-in-cheek? Anyway, if that kind of thing doesn't bother you, then this is probably a pretty fun read.

Arthur Stuart wished his life were back to normal. That way, he could wake up in the morning and go to work, not thinking about anything. He could write decent articles again, sleep alone, and go grocery shopping on his days off. His life was almost normal. At least, according to appearances. He could do those things, and it seemed like before, but something was different. Why couldn’t he just forget?

Because he kept showing up, the bastard. Arthur angrily shredded a napkin. It seemed that no matter where he went, he would see Curt somehow. Buying cigarettes, walking down the street, falling into the wolf pen at the zoo. Once, they had sat two seats away from each other on the subway, refusing to make eye contact the entire trip. Wasn’t New York supposed to be big or something? If tourists could get hopelessly lost, why couldn’t Curt? He was just as dumb as they were. Arthur growled at his half-eaten sandwich. The situation was really starting to irritate him. Even in his favorite restaurant, he couldn’t escape. Was he just going to sit here and take it?

Arthur stood up, grabbing his carrier bag and slapping some money down to take care of the bill. He walked slowly to the booth next to his, staring down at its lone occupant.

“What are you doing here?” he said quietly. Curt looked up with a quick snort of surprise and irritation. He sounded more cranky than angry.

“I’m eating lunch. What the hell does it look like?” He popped a french fry into his mouth. Arthur shifted his feet, collecting his thoughts. Perhaps he should have planned what he was going to say before he walked over. Now he looked silly, and not manly like he wanted to.

“Well, why....” his accent was painfully obvious. “Why are you eating here?” Curt tore a bite out of his hamburger, glaring.

“‘Cause I fucking wanted to. What’s your problem?” Arthur furrowed his brow. There was a point in coming over here, he knew it. How did Curt always manage to intimidate him? Well, Arthur was a man too, dammit. He mustered his courage, his tone one of (imagined) nonchalant certainty.

“Actually, I think you’re following me.” Curt managed to swallow the food in his mouth before he choked on it. Arthur slowly felt his stomach drop as Curt let out a guffaw, then another, and several mirthful chuckles.

“Oh, that’s rich....” he said, shaking his head with a grin.

Arthur felt slightly peeved as Curt took another large mouthful of hamburger. “Well no, I seriously think so.” His voice rose as Curt ignored him. “I always see you in that store on Fiftieth, and I saw on you on the subway, and the zoo--”

“Jesus, Arthur! Sit down before the waitress calls the cops!”

Arthur’s mouth snapped shut. He carefully looked around; the dark-haired server was looking at him rather unkindly from across the room. He slid surreptitiously into the booth, carefully avoiding the glances of the other patrons.

Curt snorted around a french fry.“Tell me, man. Are all investigative reporters as paranoid as you?”

Arthur felt himself blushing deeply. “It’s a pretty big coincidence,” he said sullenly.

“Naw, you’re paranoid.”

Arthur glared, ready to rebuke with righteous anger, when he noticed the huge grin on Curt’s face. His own expression became confused, and mildly hurt.“You’re laughing at me?”

Curt rolled his eyes.“Damn Brits. No sense of humor.” It was said affectionately, and Arthur suddenly knew, without a doubt, that--

“You _were_ following me.” His certainty was not imagined this time.

Curt started, eyes widening only for an instant. He pointed a finger at Arthur. “I’m no fucking stalker. Got that?”

Arthur couldn’t contain a grin. “Yeah, sure, sure,” he said. Curt relaxed, but Arthur couldn’t help adding, “You’re just following me.”

With one motion, Curt shoved his plate to the side and lunged halfway from his seat. “We’re gonna settle this, right now,” he said, elbow on the table and hand firmly raised. “You win, you’re right, I was following you. I win, I’m completely right, and you’re paranoid.” He gazed fixedly at the other man.

Arthur blinked back.“Oh... alright, then,” he said, carefully pulling the carrier strap from his shoulder. He rolled up his sleeves, and shifted for better leverage.

Curt wiggled his hand impatiently. “Come on, dammit!”

Arthur smirked as he clasped Curt’s hand in his. The blonde was making evil little cackling noises, perhaps in anticipation of winning. Of course, there was something about Arthur he didn’t know.

Two minutes later, after much grunting, straining, and odd looks from the other customers, Curt flopped back into the booth with a scowl.

“Stupid fucking bet anyway.” From behind a tangle of hair, he gazed at Arthur’s upper arms with new respect and awe.

Arthur smugly basked in manly pride. He hadn’t even broken a sweat.

But Curt could not dwell on his defeat for long; He pulled his plate back to him with a sudden, violent movement, and finished the hamburger in two bites. “So what are you doing tonight?” he asked, mopping leftover ketchup with a fry.

Arthur shrugged, shaking his hair out of his face. “Dunno. Nothing.”

The waitress passed by, dropping off the bill and a mild look of disgust. Curt flicked her off as she walked away. Arthur smothered a laugh, and Curt turned to him with bright eyes. “What are you doing this afternoon?” he asked.

Arthur smiled. “Nothing.”


	2. Curt's Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for internalized b.s. on Arthur's part in regards to depression and homophobia.

As soon as they got outside, Curt pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Arthur watched as his cheeks hollowed with inhalation. 

Curt looked at him. “What are you looking at?” 

Arthur shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. 

Curt shrugged and started down the sidewalk. Arthur stretched to keep up with his quick pace, marveling again that he was taller than Curt. 

Apparently, Curt noticed too. He glanced up at him from the corner of his eye. “You’re too tall, man,” he said. 

Arthur gave a small smile, ignoring a quick jolt of self-consciousness. But perhaps it showed; Curt smirked as he took another drag. Arthur suddenly wondered if he should really be doing this. What the hell was he doing, after all? He was following Curt Wild. There were probably going to have sex. Most likely. Arthur glanced at Curt, his twisting torso and those thick fingers, hooked gently around the cig. 

Oh yes- they would definitely have sex. 

Arthur looked at the ground, hands shoved in his pockets as he walked. Did he really want this? Well, of course he wanted it. But did he need it? Deserve it? Dammit. He shook his head. Once he started thinking that way, he got depressed. And nobody ever wanted to have sex with someone who was depressed. 

“Hey kid. You gonna keep on walking?” 

Arthur looked up. Curt was standing at the door to an apartment building, grinning like a cat. Arthur froze. Anxiety, fear, and a lifetime of social taboos coiled tightly in his stomach.

Curt sighed and grabbed his hand. “Come on man, just put one foot in front of the other. The door isn’t going to bite you.” 

Arthur allowed himself to be tugged through the door, willing his brain to start working again. Curt’s hand was warm and rough in his. Arthur ignored the implications of holding hands with another man in public. He didn’t want to mess this up. He was going to leave all his fears behind, all his self-reproach, his self-denial. He was going to be free, a man without reservations, who could fuck who he wanted to, and not feel womanly about it. He was a guy, who was going to have sex with another guy. Who gives a damn what society says- sex is good, it’s lots of fun. Arthur was going to be fun. He was going to be primal and lustful, and to hell with consequences. He could feel his testosterone rising, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was strong, he was manly, he was- oh shit. They were at the door. 

Curt laughed, unlocking the apartment quickly and pushing his personal statue inside. Arthur was tense, looking around the room with haunted eyes. 

Curt threw his keys on the coffee table, dropped his jacket somewhere, and took a good look at his guest. He was still grinning. “Hey kid, what are ya doing? I heard you thinking on the way here. Weren’t you determined to do something?” 

Arthur turned to him, brows knit in confusion.

Curt shook his head. “Never mind. Want a beer?” Without waiting for an answer, he went to the kitchen, stepping over several piles of records and clothes. When he returned with two bottles, Arthur had managed to sit on the couch. Curt perched on the arm and handed him the beer. “You gonna be ok, kid?” 

Arthur stared down at his beer. He gently rubbed it with his thumb. After a moment, he looked up at Curt. “Were you really following me?” 

Curt blinked. It was a simple question, really, but somehow, he didn’t know if he could answer. But Arthur looked like he needed to know. Curt took a breath. “Not at first,” he admitted. “But you were ignoring me, so it became sort of a challenge, you know?” 

Arthur nodded, then cracked a smile. “So, at the zoo, when you fell into the wolf pit....” 

Curt raised his hands in denial. “No way man, that was a complete accident!” 

Arthur snorted and shoved him. “Bullshit,” he said. 

Curt laughed.“Yeah, you got me,” he said. “But it really was an accident. I was walking on the railing, but then this chick walked by, and you know, I got distracted.” 

Arthur smiled at the joke, but his eyes clouded over, gazing somewhere past Curt’s shoulder. 

Curt tried not to sigh. He liked Arthur, really, but his lack of confidence was making things move slower than Curt would have liked. It was like feeding a stray cat. The cat knew what it wanted, and would fight to get it. But it didn’t trust you, and hell if you tried to pet it. A cat like that had to be approached with caution, patience, and a plan. But Curt had not idea what to do next.

An awkward silence settled around them. Arthur stared at his beer. Curt stared at Arthur. Finally, he reached over and took Arthur’s beer, setting it with his on the coffee table. He leaned in slowly, gently placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder, as if to calm him. Arthur, suddenly decisive, turned and yanked Curt down on top of him. 

Hey, thought Curt. Maybe this will work after all. 


	3. Painful Beer Bottles

Twelve minutes later, Curt found himself wedged under the coffee table. His arm draped across Arthur’s hips, and his nose was smushed against the other man’s shoulder. Curt closed his eyes, drowsy and close to sleep.

Arthur stared up at the ceiling. He wasn’t really thinking about anything. Mostly, he just a little sleepy, and not nervous anymore. True, he was trapped between a man, a coffee table, and a smelly couch, but he was content. And Arthur felt that he could be really happy, but something was bothering him. He couldn’t identify it, but something was digging into him, demanding examination.

To be more specific, it was digging into his lower back. Arthur grunted and raised his hips, reaching one hand under his body. He pulled out the empty beer bottle and looked at it. 

“Curt,” he said. There was a throaty, sleepy sound, and Curt nuzzled himself between Arthur’s shoulder and the floor. Arthur rolled his eyes and tossed the bottle elsewhere.

“Your apartment’s messy,” he stated. Curt’s reply was muffled.

“So what?” he growled. 

Arthur shifted his hips, pushing another bottle out of the way. “Well,” he said. “Maybe you should clean it.” 

Curt lifted his head and glared at Arthur with bleary eyes. “Are you nagging me?” he asked. 

Arthur shook his head. “No, I just said-”

“Don’t nag me.” Curt returned his head to the floor, now attempted to squirm his body under Arthur’s. 

Arthur let out a squeak as the edge of the coffee table jabbed into his ribcage. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed. 

“‘M cold,” Curt mumbled. It was December in New York, after all. 

Arthur made an expression of faint disgust. “Geez, you idiot,” he said, spying a blanket nearby and pulling it over both of them, careful not to impale himself further on the furniture. “Oh, an added bonus,” he said. “It covers up your face.” The blanket shifted; he caught sight of one eye glaring at him and grinned. 

Curt groaned. “Why can’t you just let me sleep?” he whined. 

“Don’t you have a bed?” 

The single eye swivelled about, taking in the state of the apartment before resting again on him. “So you want to go bed with me?” Curt sounded mischievous, and the fingers against Arthur’s hips quirked. 

Arthur squinted one eye, wondering how to respond. Finally, he decided on the side of safety. “The floor is hurting me,” he said. There was a soft sigh, then the blanket rose, easily knocking over the coffee table. Arthur fell with a thud as the body beneath his removed itself. Curt reached out to grasp his wrist, and helped him up. Arthur stood, looking vaguely around for his pants before deciding it didn’t really matter. He followed Curt into the bedroom, picking his way through assorted junk before collapsing on the bed.

Curt settled himself beside Arthur, putting his hands beneath his head. Arthur had fallen into a doze as soon as his head hit the pillow, but Curt was now awake after their short walk. He concentrated on wiggling his toes, establishing rhythm with his left foot while the right riffed on. Just when that was getting interesting, he got a cramp. Curt sighed and stretched his foot, wondering what to do. He could get up and make some food, but they’d both just eaten, and Arthur might asleep for a while. He couldn’t practice his music or anything, because that would wake Arthur up, and he’d be cranky. Curt looked over at Arthur’s back, the view most graciously offered to him. If he did it right, Arthur could be more than cranky. He could get downright angry, or enraged. Curt studied his neck, following it down to his pale shoulder, exposed to the air. Curt grinned. He bit him. 

Arthur awoke with a yelp, spinning to face Curt. “What the hell was that?” he demanded. 

Curt smiled innocently.“I got hungry,” he said. 

Arthur’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Then make some bloody food!” he yelled. 

Curt shook his head. “No, I’d rather eat you,” he said, swooping to taste him again. 

Arthur put his hand in Curt’s face and shoved him back. Curt barely stopped himself from falling off the bed, and lunged again. 

Arthur smacked him upside the head. “Stop being an asshole, Curt. You’re pissing me off.” 

Curt watched Arthur’s glare with gleeful anticipation. “Are you angry?” he asked, trying to sound sincere.

“Yes I’m fucking angry! You bit me!” Arthur sounded close to rage. 

Curt looked at him innocently and ran a finger up his arm. “It was just a nibble,” he said coyly. Arthur snarled and attacked Curt, pinning him to the bed and raking his teeth into the flesh of his neck. Curt squirmed beneath him, grinning like a bucket of glow-worms. Then he realized that Arthur had stopped, and was looking at him.

“You want this.” The tone was accusatory, indignant. Curt glanced up. Arthur’s eyes glittered, incensed, and a little frightened. He stifled a whimper. Arthur spat words at him. “You did this on purpose. You wanted me to be angry!” He was straddling Curt, danger and strength sizzling through every line in his body. Curt felt the heat centered above him, and locking Arthur’s eyes with his own, thrust up. The simple movement destroyed Arthur; all coherent thought left with an audible snap, and he was a frenzied, primal creature, tearing at his victim with powerful, burning obsession.

Four minutes later, he was deeply asleep, and Curt lay panting. 

Damn, thought Curt. That was grrrr.... he slept. 


	4. Homicidal Blankets

The room was dim, late afternoon light struggling through the boxes piled in front of the windows. Curt hovered on the edge of sleep, awakening into soft, wiggly warmth. He tightened his arms around it, nuzzling at the bare skin, but it was taken from him. Perplexed, he reached for it. His hands grasped flesh, and he made to pull it to him, but it was gone, and he was cold. 

Curt opened one eye. Arthur was standing next to the bed, looking down at him in some irritation. Curt briefly enjoyed the view before attacking. He wrapped his arms around Arthur’s waist, pulling him violently back to bed. Arthur struggled and squirmed, but Curt wrapped his legs around him, pinning him down. Arthur stilled, defeated, and Curt prepared to go back to sleep. He laid his head on Arthur’s chest, shifting his arms and getting all comfy. 

Much better, he thought. Then something draped over his face. Something soft and warm, but not wiggly at all.

“Here’s a blanket. Now get off me.” Arthur’s voice was slightly smug. Curt whined, but he didn’t have any excuses left, so he reluctantly disentangled his limbs and rolled over.

“You’re mean after sex,” he grumbled, trying not to pout. He curled up in the blanket, trying to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t. Arthur was thinking too loud. With a sigh, Curt flopped back over, raising an eyebrow at Arthur.

“Out with it,” he said, trying to sound stern. This was a little hard, as he was tangled up in the blanket and could not move at the moment. Arthur didn’t seem to notice anyway. He was staring at the ceiling. Curt squirmed a little, surreptitiously trying to escape the blanket. 

Arthur bit his lip, gathering the courage to speak. “You liked it,” he said. 

Curt paused in his struggles for a moment, trying to think of what the hell Arthur was talking about. “Oh,” he said. “Yeah, sex is great, man. Wanna try it again?” His offer went unnoticed. The blanket was proving to be an admirable adversary.

“You liked it.... like that.” Arthur’s voice was slow again, like from underground. He spoke the next word in a whisper, with significance: “Rough.” 

The mattress bounced slightly as Curt managed to get an arm free. He gently touched Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m just a little masochistic, that’s all,” he said. He grunted. The mattress bounced again as he tried to get closer to Arthur. “If you’re uncomfortable about it, we don’t have to do it. Ok?” 

Arthur nodded, still looking at the ceiling. 

Curt finally rid himself of the blanket and shoved it over the side of the bed. He glanced over at Arthur, his brow knit. “But you know,” he said quietly, not sure if he should say it. “You seem to enjoy it just as much as I do.” 

Immediately, Arthur snapped towards him, eyes wide in terror and shameful agreement. “I... No! I really don’t.... uh....” Arthur tried to speak, panicked. 

Curt quietly shushed him, pulling him closer. “Shh... It’s ok man. Don’t worry about it. We can deal with it later,” he said soothingly, softly stroking. Arthur ducked his head, eyes dark and distraught. He was enfolded in quiet arms and gently held. Curt laid his head next to Arthur’s, entwining their limbs together again.

“Curt....” the voice was soft, tentative. 

Curt snuggled closer. “Yes, Arthur?” he asked quietly.   


The body in his arms shifted slightly.“You do have a blanket,” Arthur said. 

Curt grimaced. There was no way he was going to mess with that.... thing again. He paused a moment, trying to think of some way to get out of it. Furtively, his hand slid down Arthur’s hip, reaching for the spot he’d recently discovered behind Arthur’s left knee. There came a loud, fluttery moan, and Arthur melted. Bingo, thought Curt. 

Twenty minutes later, Curt snuggled closer to Arthur. Arthur wasn’t going to wake up for a while, and what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right? Curt grinned. No homicidal blanket for me, he thought. 


	5. Dim Thinking

Arthur stared at the wall. It was getting into evening now, and the light had given up its vain struggle against the cardboard boxes. Only a few brave beams snuck through the cracks, lighting mysterious mounds of junk. The room was dim. He closed his eyes and pushed back into the warmth surrounding him, hoping to sleep. But it wouldn’t come. He hadn’t worried for at least five hours now, and it was catching up to him. 

Everything had gone fine. He’d been here, they’d had a beer, they’d had sex. And it was good, normal sex. He didn’t lay there and endure, and he didn’t shove Curt to the floor, either. Yes, sex was good. It was nice. Even the frightening state of the floor hadn’t been that bad. At least Curt had a bed for them to move to. And then, predictably, they’d had sex again. Arthur remembered briefly; the anger coursing through him, quickly changed to lust. Curt’s cries, his slippery, writhing body, and the pink scar on his lower lip, fresh from Arthur’s first taking. The image spiked in him, and Arthur quickly shoved it away. Later, he promised himself. Curt said it could wait until later.

Looking over the events of the past few hours, it was quite obvious that Arthur had become comfortable with the idea of sex with another man. For the first time in many years, he could acknowledge to himself that he was gay, and that he liked it. Arthur repeated that to himself: I like having sex with other men. He smiled. The usual twinge of fear, shame, and denial was gone. Great, one thing to check off his list. So far, so good. 

Arthur let his mind wander, hoping it would bring him to the next issue. It didn’t, and he just felt drowsy again. Arthur let out a sigh, snuggling deeper into the pillow, twining his fingers with the arm nestled around his waist, listening to the warm breath on the back of his neck.

Oh yeah. That was it. Arthur moved to leave the embrace, only to be stopped by a soft sound of distress behind him. The arms tightened around him, and Curt nuzzled further into his back. Arthur sighed. Well, Curt was asleep. He wouldn’t know of Arthur’s moment of weakness. And if Curt initiated the snuggling, and Arthur complied unwillingly, then it wasn’t really his fault, right? Of course he could still move away, but then Curt would wake up and drag him back, or look sad, or something else equally.... unpleasant. Right. Arthur wasn’t being womanly. He was just being overpowered. Although, that wasn’t very manly at all, and was possibly worse than voluntary cuddling. Dammit. Well, maybe this was the same as sex. Having sex was manly, because it was a natural, enjoyable urge, just like fighting, eating, and taking a shit. Cuddling was just as primal as sex.

Right. 

Arthur scurried on before that bit of illogic could make itself fully known. Anyway, that wasn’t the root of the problem. What really bothered him, what he really didn’t know about, was-

Where was this leading? Last time, it was a memorable one night stand. And this? He didn’t know. Arthur wondered if the fact that it had been afternoon when they met made any difference. Probably not. Well, they’d had sex. That didn’t mean much. They hadn’t had much in the way of conversation this time- but they had talked last time. Arthur was confused. Well, he’d just wait until Curt woke up. Curt was more experienced in this sort of thing, and it would depend on what-

On what Curt wanted. Arthur stiffened, feeling his stomach sink. When they had last parted, Curt had made it pretty clear he didn’t want a relationship. With anyone. Ever. Arthur knew he was probably exaggerating, but if Curt hadn’t been in relationship for ten years, some loser journalist wasn’t going to change that. Arthur gently pried Curt’s arms from around him and eased out of bed, shoving a pillow in to take his place. He looked back; Curt snuggled closer to the pillow, wrinkling his nose. He didn’t even notice Arthur had left.

In the living room, Arthur went on a hurried expedition for his clothes. He didn’t mind that it was just sex. Really. What was he going to do if it was more than that, anyway? He may be able to have sex with a guy without feeling guilty, but he couldn’t very well go on dates with them. And even if, by some strange miracle, Curt actually did want more than sex.... he’d be disappointed. Arthur really wasn’t that interesting. He was about as boring as you could get, right down to his plain white boxers, which were hanging off the arm of the sofa. Arthur put them on. 

After a few minutes, all his clothes reappeared, and Arthur headed for the door. He reached for the knob, he turned it, the door was open, and then--

“Where are you going?” Arthur turned around. Curt was standing in the middle of the room, naked and confused. His face was like a child whose had its favorite toy taken away, and hasn’t quite realized it yet. Arthur gestured vaguely towards the open doorway.

“I have work tomorrow,” he said, the excuse sounding lame even to his own ears. Curt narrowed his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he said. “You’re leaving.” Arthur waved his hands about, trying to think of some other excuse, but in the end only nodded. Curt took a step forward. At that moment, a woman walked past the doorway on the way to her own apartment. After curious glance through Curt’s wide open door, she walked much faster. 

Curt grimaced. “Hey man... Can you close the door?” 

Arthur nodded in agreement, embarrassed, and closed the door much louder than he’d intended to. 

That moment’s distraction gave Curt the time to sneak his hands around Arthur’s waist, nibbling on his ear. “It’s only six,” he said breathily. “You don’t need to leave right now.” 

Arthur swallowed, allowing himself to be turned and kissed. And kissed. Dammit. In another strange moment of decisiveness, he bapped Curt on the nose. “ _No_ ,” he said firmly. 

Curt whined but took a step back, looking at Arthur with sad eyes. Arthur crossed his arms and looked away. 

Curt sighed, deciding on a change of strategy.“At least tell me why you were trying to sneak out,” he said. 

Arthur looked at his feet.“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” he said petulantly.

Curt cocked his head to one side. “Why do you say that?” he asked. 

“It’s just sex,” Arthur mumbled, wincing at the sound of his accent. There was silence. He furtively glanced up; Curt was scratching his head. 

“Gee man,” Curt said. “I was.... I dunno. I’d thought we could.... get more.” He glanced up, hoping he hadn’t scared Arthur away. 

Arthur looked as if he didn’t believe him. “You didn’t want to do more. You left the first time,” he said, his tone accusatory. 

“I changed my mind,” Curt said. 

“But you started talking about Brian--”

“I changed my mind.” Curt was looking at the floor now. “Like, Brian.... that was a decade ago. And it hurt a lot, you know, but it was good.” He would have put his hands in his pockets, had he been wearing any clothes. He peered up at Arthur through his hair; Arthur was looking at him with suspicion. Curt haltingly reached out, and touched Arthur’s arm. “I’m sort of masochistic anyway,” he said. 

Arthur shivered, and not from cold. Again, images came through him in a flush, but he pushed them away. Later, he promised. Later. 

Curt had watched his reaction with a small smile, and now tapped his arm.“And I really don’t think you’re going to leave me for the sake of your music career, Arthur,” he said. 

Arthur looked up, mouth twisted somewhere between a scowl and a smirk. “Dunno,” he said. “I could write a best-selling book, or get transferred to some foreign country.” 

Curt shrugged. “Yeah,” he said, stepping closer. “But I wanna try.” He kissed Arthur softly, only a brief, gentle pressure on his lips. Opening his eyes, he watched Arthur. 

Arthur slowly nodded, brow knitting with a small quirk of puzzlement. “Ok,” he said, edging to the side. Curt stepped back as Arthur reached for the door and opened it. He slipped out, mumbling some more. “Alright. You want to try.” 

Curt tried to say something, but the door clicked shut.

Arthur was gone. 

Curt scratched his head, wondering if he should follow Arthur, or stab himself. Then he wondered what the hell had just happened anyway. Was Arthur going to come back? Should Curt call? Did he even have Arthur’s number? Finally, he let out a sigh and went to get a beer.

Oh well. He’d figure it out later.


End file.
